


The Fine Art of Being Kidnapped

by AnArmAndALeg, JackOfPanTrades



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: And not just writing-wise, Anyways, Based off of the Hades and Persephone myth, But there's implied feelings?, Did I get everything, Everyone's aged up three years, Everyone's in the mafia man, Hiring someone to kidnap your heir without their consent is a bad, How Do I Tag, I mean, I think I did, Kinda irritating actually, Like everything just decided to be stupid, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Victor Nikiforov, Maybe one day we'll make more on this AU, Minor Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, There's not really a kiss or anything, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This was harder to complete than you'd think, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Word of advice, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 08:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10986879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnArmAndALeg/pseuds/AnArmAndALeg, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackOfPanTrades/pseuds/JackOfPanTrades
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky never asked for this bullshit. All he wanted to do was finish his mission--which was idiotic grunt work, anyways--and get out of his stupid toga.Of course, life was nearly that nice.In which Yuri is kidnapped, Victor makes bad decisions, and everything plays out like a very familiar Greek myth.





	The Fine Art of Being Kidnapped

**Author's Note:**

> This...took far longer than it should have. For some reason, things kept going wrong, so this came out late...*sobs* In any case, it's done now! This is the first (finished) collab with my brilliant amazing boyfriend Hunter (also known as JackOfPanTrades) and I'm actually really happy that this is the first one because I am a complete sucker for Mafia AUs. We left a lot of opportunity for expansion and spinoffs, so if you want to see more, despair not! Either we'll write more or we'll let other people work on it if they want. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Anyways, uh...enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to Nelaine Ivory (nelaineivory on Tumblr) for being our artist, and thank you to both my soul sister Reggi (amadeusshallnotberocked on AO3) and one of my Michemil fams Percy (vaingloriousactor on Tumblr)! Without y'all, this would not have happened!

_New York City_

_1982_

 

The Russian man stands in front of the heavy oaken doors and takes a deep breath. His hands absentmindedly reach for his tie and tug at it, loosening the knot. He’s about to completely undo the tie when another pair of hands reach for his, gently covering them. They belong to his husband, who looks up at him with a gentle but concerned expression.

 

 _“Are you okay?”_ The other man asks. He’s speaking in Japanese, his native tongue, in case the people beyond the door can hear them. He fumbles a bit and redoes the now sad mess that was the Russian’s tie, gently tugging it up until it’s snug. _“We can always reschedule the meeting.”_

 

But they can’t, and they both know it. This meeting could change everything that the Russian has ever known, for better or for worse.

 

The Russian sighs and runs his hand through his hair. It’s been slicked back for this meeting, and now he’s messed it up. It certainly doesn’t help the professional nature he’s going for, but it makes him feel slightly better. His husband watches with slight amusement in his eyes and then steps closer. One of his hands reaches up to gently cup the other man’s right cheek. It’s a simple but sweet gesture of comfort, and the Russian has to close his eyes for a moment to suppress all of the emotions roaring in him. There’s no room for emotions in this business, especially now.

 

For one second, he indulges himself and presses a soft kiss to the palm of his husband’s hand before pulling away. _“Stay close to me,”_ he whispers, and his husband nods, dropping his hand to his side. The two of them turn back to face the doors. The Russian takes a deep breath and fiddles with the ring on his right hand for a second. It still shines, despite being three years old, and the engraving on the inside is still a silent comfort.

 

The man takes another breath, puts on a smile, and opens up the doors to step inside, his husband falling behind him.

 

Considering the weight of the situation, the conference room is actually rather small. There are only three people sitting at the table; two men and a woman. The tension in the air is almost laughable, without context.

 

Luca Crispino, the broad-shouldered and stocky _don_ of the Sacra Corona Unita, scowls at him as he walks in. “Nikiforov. Took you long enough. We were beginning to think that you weren’t coming.”

 

The smile the Russian gives in reply doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I apologise. You know how bad the traffic in the city can get. Is Alexandr not here?”

 

Nathalie Leroy, co-head of the Milieu, shakes her head with a wry smile. “He declined. Apparently he had better things to do. In any case, we’re all here, so please, sit down so we can get started.”

 

On her left, her husband nods and grins. “We’ve already lost some time, unfortunately.”

 

“Apologies,” Victor says again, and sits down at the table. His own husband sits down to his right. Victor feels the other man reach for his hand from under the table and squeeze it for a second.

 

Nathalie coughs delicately. “In any case, I’m sure you’re all aware that Giuliani recently arrested the bosses and some of the underlings from the Five Families. Knowing that the FBI has finally began implementing its policies on groups like us, Alain and I have decided to offer up an agreement.”

 

Victor sits back in his seat. “And what exactly would that entail?”

 

The woman leans forward. “A truce. We acknowledge each other and our territories and agree to unite against any viable threats.”

 

“Elaborate, please?” Yuuri asks, speaking up for the first time.

 

“To start, anyone who enters this agreement is to refrain from drawing attention to fellow signees or themselves, whether through canceling plans or silencing spies.”

 

The brown haired man, Luca, nods slowly. “That, at least, seems reasonable.”

 

Alain stiffens, looks as if he were about to hit the other man. Nathalie quietly lays a hand on his arm, and he relaxes as she continues speaking. “Secondly, this agreement means that we are all united against the threat that is Giuliani and his people. Above all, our priority is to our families and our legacy. We respect business, of course, but there cannot be any secrets in regards to this matter among us.”

 

There’s a moment of silence. Luca speaks up again. “So, an alliance. Like the Tripartite Pact.”

 

Alain raises an eyebrow. “We’re hardly world powers, but you can perceive it that way, yes.”

 

The man thinks for a bit, then gives them a sharp nod. “We’ll sign on,” he says curtly.

 

Victor drums his fingers on the table, thinking. As much as he dislikes the Leroys, he knows that they are people of honour; at least, as honourable as people in their position can be. They’d do anything to ensure that their family stayed safe, and he can respect that. He thinks of Mari, nearly eight months pregnant with his and Yuuri’s child.

 

On his right, Yuuri looks at him and gives him a barely noticeable nod. They’re clearly thinking the same thing.

 

Victor turns to the others. “We will sign on as well.”

 

Nathalie nods and smiles, obviously pleased with this outcome. “Alain and I took the liberty of writing out the terms of the alliance. If you could just sign here…we’ll conclude this meeting, then.”

 

The Russian takes the paper offered to him and lightly skims over it to ensure that everything is in order, then signs his name with a flourish. “And Alexandr?”

 

Nathalie’s smile becomes a bit strained. “We’ve tried to contact him, but so far we’ve received no response. Until we get an answer, assume that the Brothers’ Gang is not part of this alliance.”

 

The brown haired man quickly signs his paper and shoves it back to Nathalie. “And if they attack us?”

 

Alain spoke up. “Then we’ll treat them as enemies.”

 

“Understood.” The meeting concluded, Victor shoots a look at Yuuri and they both stand up, preparing to leave.

 

Victor’s nearly out the door when he pauses. “You are, of course, aware that the Tripartite Pact didn’t prevent the Axis Powers from failing.”

 

He hears Nathalie chuckle. “Of course not, but it certainly established the major powers. Besides, we’re hardly monsters.”

 

A smirk crosses his face, unseen by everyone, including Yuuri. “Indeed. Have a pleasant afternoon.” And with that, Victor Nikiforov, _pakhan_ of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, walks out the door.

 

—

 

_“And where do I fit in all of this?”_

 

_“Despite the alliance, I have some worries and concerns. I cannot afford to have my successor arrested or hurt in any way, and the Brothers’ Gang…”_

 

_“I understand. What do you need me to do?”_

 

~~~~~~~~

_The Kidnapping of Yuri (Art by NelaineIvory)_

This was a stupid idea. Fucking Victor and his stupid training. Victor probably never had to dress in a stupid Greek toga for an infiltration and pretend to be a woman, damn it. Why should anyone close to becoming co- _pakhan_ have to do _shestyorka_ work? An almost co-head running errands for his own gang? Unheard of. And yet here was the soon-to-be co- _pakhan_ of Solntsevskaya Bratva, doing a soldier’s job. Bullshit.

Loud music shook the floor of the open-air pavilion that some rich parent had set up for their kid on the beach. It was oddly warm for the season, but it worked out. A lithe, feminine figure clothed in a white toga slipped away from the pavilion into the beach house, where a landline was ringing in a small room. They answered the phone testily. “The hell do you want?”

From the other end came a tinny laugh. “Now, now, Yana. Is that a way to greet your superior?”

“That’s not my name, you piece of katsudon-loving shit.”

“So mean! I just wanted to know how your mission is going, Yuri.”

The blond made a _tch_ sound and scowled. “It’s as full of crap as it was before.”

“Have you figured anything out?”

“The Brothers’ Gang is fucking stupid to have a party this big and loud in a public beach. It’s even louder than you fucking Katsudon, Victor.”

More laughter. That man had no shame. “I’ll try to be quieter next time. Is the layout really as easy as the maps say?”

“Yeah, yeah, easy mark. When can I drop this shitty disguise?”

“Just wait a day, Yuri. Oh! Yuuri says hi, by the way.”

“Yakuza boy can go fuck himself.”

Yuri could almost hear the frown threatening to mar Victor’s face. “Be nice.”

An unclear voice, pitched slightly higher than the original speaker’s, said something in the background. The smile in Victor’s voice returned. “Yuuri also says to be careful and try to not be so suspicious.”

“GOODBYE,” Yuri practically yelled into the mouthpiece, and stabbed the receiver. He felt like throwing the phone, but figured that probably wasn’t what “not being suspicious” meant.

Fuck rival gangs. Fuck loud-ass parties with shitty music. Fuck dressing up in a short dress and trying to avoid getting groped. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that Yuri was ever taking another mission like this. Children’s work didn’t fit the Solntsevskaya Bratva co-head. Well, soon to be co-head.

Why did he need training anyways? Grandpa had taught him all the basics. How to make people respect you, admire you, willing to die for you. How to manage evading the rare police efforts. How to off someone you don’t like with subtlety. Kid’s stuff.

But apparently, there was a ton of shit he hadn’t learned yet. Yuri liked to call those “the schoolbook lessons,” because just like the stuff in school, he would probably never have to use it in real life. Georgi and Mila swore that he’d apply it sometime in his career, and even tried to coax examples from Katsudon, Victor, and Yakov. They never asked Grandpa because Yuri knew all of his grandpa’s stories and how Grandpa _never_ had to apply Yuri’s lessons to anything that happened, which was all that really mattered.

Yuri stepped out of the enclosed area back into the rambunctious plethora of alcohol-impaired idiots. In the corner, he spied some people snorting crack off of a girl who seemed no older than sixteen. For a second, he considered how entertaining it would be for the police to raid the party before realizing that he, too, would be arrested.

Suddenly, his ears perked up. He could’ve sworn that he heard the high-pitched shriek of police sirens. Just in case, Yuri cautiously made his way inside the beach house, where the less favored associates and guests of the party were trying to have fun with low-grade alcohol. Reaching the front of the house, he peered through the window, scanning the streets for police cars. Seeing nothing, Yuri spun away from the window and found a leering man reaching towards Yuri’s butt.

“Hi there, cutie.”

Yuri groaned internally. Just what he needed. Another guy trying to coax him into having sex. He retched, staggering a bit.

“Eurgh, I think I’m going to puke. I’m, like, so druuuuunk.”

The man backed away, a bit of sobriety reaching his beer-saturated brain. “Don’t do it here, bitch!”

Yuri attempted a loose grin and fluttered his eyelashes. “Alright, sweetheart,” he sang, stumbling to the door and pretending to fumble with the handle before wrenching it open. Slipping outside into the slowly darkening evening, the cool sand gave way for his sandaled feet and got in-between his toes. He went around to the side of the house and breathed deeply. Autumn was approaching, and the crisp smell of sea salt permeated the rapidly cooling air. Faint memories of sea gulls and salty air arose in his mind, but the landscape was different. Quieter, and much colder, with snow settling on city rooftops.

Yuri’s nerves sharpened abruptly. There was a police siren nearby. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. This was bad.

He was about to go back inside to call Victor when a man stepped in front of him. He had some sort of mask covering the bottom half of his face and black lightweight armor over his body. Yuri almost screamed before the man slapped a fabric over his mouth and nose. He tried to not breathe in, but adrenaline took over and he opened his mouth to take a lungful of something chemically sweet. His eyesight fogged over and he started feeling lightheaded. Then the ash-blond Russian fell to the ground, his phone dropping into the sand.

—

When Yuri awoke, his head was pounding and he was lying down in a room with a cool draft. In the soft white light of a ceiling light, the walls were a pale shade of grey. He dragged himself up to a sitting position and was instantly overwhelmed by static-like things swimming in front of his eyes. He fell back down, groaning at the intensity of the throbbing behind his cheekbones.

“You’re awake. Good.”

Yuri’s head swiveled to the source of the voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a man sitting at a small table. Slowly, Yuri pushed himself up to his elbows to get a better view at his kidnapper. The other man had very dark brown hair clipped in an undercut, and it radiated from a single point on his hairline. The mask from before was still on, though the body armor had been replaced by a simple black tank top and sweatpants.

“What the FUCK,” Yuri said, his brow furrowing in disgust.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t you- no, don’t you fucking- You don’t fucking kidnap me and then ‘sorry’ my ass! I want explanations, you little shit!” Behind his eyes, something pulsed in time to his quickening heartbeat.

The stranger’s eyes bored into Yuri’s own, and then broke the gaze.

“You’re upset. I’ll let you think.” He stood up and approached Yuri. “How about a little rest?”

Yuri was about to protest when the the taller man whipped out a cloth and covered Yuri’s face with it, and Yuri swirled into a chemically induced sleep once again.

—

Nikolai Plisetsky stormed up to the small, dingy building. The water-stained sign said it was a deli that sold soft drinks and cigarettes. Maybe if Nikolai had been in a better mood, he would have reminisced over the faint outline of a vaguely-compass star shaped thing engraved on the door frame. Instead, he spat on it as he walked into the deli. The cashier quirked her eyebrows at him and asked, “Do you need help finding something?”

In response, the old man slammed a coin on the counter and snarled, “Take me to the headquarters.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have time for diversion tactics! Look at this coin, and take me to the goddamned headquarters.”

She glanced at the coin. It was golden, but if it was pure gold was unknown to her. The side facing up showed the same compass star-like sign that appeared on the sign in front. She picked it up to feel its weight, but upon seeing the other side, the girl paled and walked out from behind the counter. “Follow me, sir- “

He was already waiting at the basement door marked with “Employees Only”. She sighed and unlocked the door for him. He nodded curtly and walked down the creaking stairs.

When Nikolai reached the bottom, his vision was flooded with harsh blinding light. The heels of his shoes clicked against the floor as he walked down the hall. He passed by multiple doors to reach a rather imposing one at the end of the hall. The plate attached the the door held a name that would make almost anyone scared. Nikolai banged on it without any of those fears. “Let me in, you little self-righteous brat!”

A young Japanese man opened the door, black hair slicked back and glasses settled on his nose. His eyes glinted with faint recognition as he let Nikolai into the room, murmuring a greeting. Nikolai did not observe the room. He stared straight at the damned boss of the whole group, sitting at his paper-covered desk as his husband, partner, whatever, went to stand behind him. Grinning away like nothing was wrong with the world. Pretentious brat.

“Nikolai! How are y- “

“Victor Nikiforov, if you dare lay a single finger on me, I will decimate your skull.”

The smile on Victor’s face remained fixed in place as he sat back down. “I’m sorry you had to meet me here in this dirty place. We evacuated our old headquarters for safety’s sake.”

A vein on the older man’s forehead bulged. “For… safety’s sake?”

“Yup,” the younger Russian said, popping the “p”.

“If you care so much about ‘safety,’ why don’t you tell me what kind of safety my grandson is in?”

There was a pause. And then, “I guess you heard about Yuri.”

“Heard about Yuri? Nikiforov, if I hadn’t sworn to keep Yakov’s bloodline alive, you would be dead right now. Yuri was supposed to come home last night! He didn’t arrive through the front doors. I said fine, he’ll be in his bed tomorrow. Next day? Nothing! Tell me what happened to him!”

Victor’s eyes flashed, and the Japanese man laid a hand on his shoulder as he spoke. “He’s fine.”

The older man would have liked nothing better than to strangle Victor. “I better get a call from him in a day assuring his safety.”

“As you wish.”

There was a tense pause. And then, “Is Yakov here…?”

“I don’t think so... Yuuri?”

“He went out to the rink again,” Yuuri confirmed.

“Say hello to him for me, will you?”

Despite the fact that Nikolai had spoken to Yuuri, Victor answered. “I will. Should Yuuri show you out?”

“No, I’m fine,” Nikolai said tersely. “Go back to your ‘important’ matters at hand.”

—

When Yuri came to again, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. And his mouth tasted like shit.

There was shuffling outside the door, and then the jingling of keys. Yuri shot up in his bed, nerves on edge. The doorknob rattled, as if to open, and then stopped. Then, the kidnapper walked in, balancing a steaming tray of scrambled eggs with bacon and a glass of water. He placed the tray on the corner table and stepped back, looking at Yuri.

“Here, eat.”

“I won’t eat your fucking food. It’s probably laced with some kind of drug,” he snarled.

 

The other man sighed. “If I wanted to drug you, I’d use the same drug that I’ve been using. But here.” He sat down at the table, with only his right side visible to Yuri. As clearly as he could, he covered the side of his face, tugged the mask down slightly, and ate a piece of bacon.

“The water has poison in it,” Yuri spat.

The dark-haired man sipped the water and shook his head.

“It’ll tastes like shit, because you, whatever the fuck your name is, made it.”

The man replaced his mask. “I’m Otabek,” the man offered, fastening the strap on the back of his head.

“Otabek, huh? Interesting name.” Yuri smirked. “I don’t suppose your parents just came up with random letters and put them together, did they?”

Otabek shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. What should I call you?”

The blond Russian laughed harshly. “What kind of kidnapper doesn’t even know his target’s name?”

Otabek stood up and walked over to the bed. Yuri scrambled backwards, suddenly frightened.

“I know your name, Yuri Plisetsky. I know a lot about you,” the taller man said, his voice muffled by the leather.

He planted his hands against the wall, caging Yuri against it. “You lived with your grandfather, Nikolai. Your mother and father died in Russia during a gang clash. You’re training to become one of the _pakhans_ for Solntsevskaya Bratva. You did figure skating in Moscow, and quit shortly after moving to St. Petersburg. You could’ve gone professional. You were very good at it.” His eyes pierced Yuri’s green ones, and the latter’s breath hitched at the feeling of being intruded upon.

Otabek’ next words were spoken in a much softer tone with something undiscernible mixed in. “And above all, your gang calls you _Persephone_ , because you too are an untouchable beauty.” He pulled away and walked back to the table, his back facing Yuri. There was the clink of metal on metal and Yuri’s breath approached a rate that was dangerously close to hyperventilation. Was he going to be stabbed to death? Fuck.

The taller man turned around, and Yuri squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. For some reason, the pain never came. He opened his eyes to see Otabek holding a fork with eggs in the tines.

“Open your mouth.”

“I’m not hungry,” the Russian snapped. Right on cue, his stomach growled, and Otabek’ eyes flicked to him with amusement.

“Eat, _detka_.” He waved the fork in the air.

Yuri squinted at his kidnapper. “You can speak Russian,” he accused.

“A little bit. Mainly Kazakh.”

“Any other secrets you haven’t told me?”

Otabek pressed the eggs against Yuri’s lips. “Eat your food or you’ll die.”

“Good, then I wouldn’t have to see your shit face.”

The corners of the man’s eyes crinkled ever so slightly as he drew back. “I’ll leave the food here. There’s something I have to do, so you’ll be alone. Please make yourself comfortable.”

He closed the door behind him, and Yuri heard the sound of the key turning in the lock. He stood up, took a second to let the dizziness of blood rush subside, and then rushed to the wall. Pressing his ear against it, he listened for the thumps of footsteps. Another slam, and then silence.

Instantly, Yuri was at the lock, jiggling the knob. Nothing. “Fuck,” he hissed, reaching up to pull his hair before realizing it was still in a braid from before. Moreover, the hairpins were still tangled in it. He hastily unpinned his hair and chose one to pick the lock with, the side of his lips curling into a smirk.

With brisk fingers and deft movements, Yuri made fast work of the door and got out within a minute later. His heart jumped and began pounding much faster than he’d like. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he stepped into a dark room and flipped on the lights, which revealed a very large, open-concept living space. Nothing separated the living room from the dining room, or the dining room from the kitchen. It would have been an excellent spot to have parties had there not been heavy curtains completely covering a wall.

“How antisocial,” he muttered under his breath, pushing the curtain aside. He did not expect to see a brilliant sunset sinking into a line of skyscrapers. Nor did he expect to be at least six stories in the air. So much for sneaking out of a window. Especially not a window wall.

On the upside, Yuri now knew that he was in a city that had skyscrapers and a lot of traffic. Most likely, Manhattan. He was relatively familiar with the area.

Out of the blue, panic filled his mind. Otabek could be coming back at any time. He had to hurry. The front door was directly adjacent from the window wall. He undid the deadlocks and tried to open the door, but it just rattled, still fixed to its spot. “Shit,” the blond hissed.

Yuri decided to explore the rest of the apartment. Maybe there was a card or something to unlock the door. Glancing around the main room revealed nothing out of the ordinary, besides a landline. Yuri picked up the phone and listened to the static and his own heavy breathing. He swiftly spun in his grandfather’s number and hoped that he would pick up.

Nikolai picked up within two rings. “Name, business, relevance.”

Yuri sighed in relief. “Grandpa, it’s me.”

An acute intake of breath. “Yuri!”

“Grandpa, I’ve been kidnapped. I’m being held in a high-rise in a city, probably Manhattan. The front door is locked with something that can’t be unlocked from the inside. The kidnapper calls himself-”

Something slapping against metal. Echoing. Boots on stairs? Fuck.

“Yuri?”

“-Otabek. Please find me,” he whispered hurriedly, and hung up.

—

Nikolai stared at the receiver in his hand, blaring a shrill note. “Otabek,” he said, balling up all the resentment he felt and wrapping it around the name. Of course, he couldn’t help Yuri. Victor said that he had been taken away. But… if this Otabek man was treating Yuri in a way that made Yuri feel like he was kidnapped, something was definitely wrong.

He spun a phone number and waited for the other end to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Good evening. It’s Nicholas. Please tell me everything you know about people related to the name ‘Otabek’ in the underground.”

—

Yuri ran back to his bedroom and stuffed three hairpins under the mattress. Not enough to be noticeably missing, but enough for future escape plans. He locked the room door and closed it, then burrowed into the duvet on the bed and waited for Otabek to walk into the house. It was probably too cold to escape in the thin toga he was wearing anyways.

 

A minute passed. And then two. And then ten. Yuri began to feel slightly cold and curled in on himself. Soon, he was asleep, his chest rising ever so slightly as he breathed.

 

When he woke up, his mind told him that he had slept for much longer than planned. The food Otabek had left him was long cold. Outside, Yuri heard a small thump, then the crinkling of what sounded like plastic bags. There was some commotion and clanging. It wasn’t soon after that Yuri smelled food cooking. His stomach growled in response, and he realised that he was still very hungry. He regretted not eating the food the other man had given him before, drugs be damned.

 

There was a knock on the door, and he jumped. “Yuri, I made dinner.” Otabek paused. “Would you like to join me, or would you prefer eating in here?”

 

Yuri immediately went on alert. Why would he ask something like that…? On the other hand, it would be a good way to scout out the room and look for possible escape routes.

 

He decided to risk it. “I’ll come out,” he called. Yuri heard the locks moving, and the door swung open. With a suddenly pounding heart, Yuri walked through.

 

What he didn’t expect was a full meal with beef borscht and pierogi. The table was set for two, as if Otabek had anticipated what Yuri was going to say. The man himself was already sitting down, pouring himself a glass of wine. He’d taken off the mask so he could eat, and for the first time Yuri saw him clearly, without lighting or mask problems. He looked to be a few years older than Yuri, solidly built. He held himself not as if he was somehow both at ease and ready to shoot a person if needed. For a second, Yuri felt jealous and...something else that he couldn’t quite identify.

 

Otabek nodded to the chair in front of him. “Sit.”

 

Yuri sat.

 

The other man picked up his fork and motioned to the food in front of them. “You can eat, you know.”

 

“I’m aware of that,” Yuri snapped, feeling the irritation rise in him. “Just...Why are you acting so nice?”

 

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “I’m a kidnapper, not inhumane.”

 

After a beat, Yuri grudgingly grabbed some food and began eating. Surprisingly enough, his kidnapper was a pretty good cook. The two of them ate their dinner in deafening silence. Finally, Otabek sat down his silverware and looked straight at Yuri.

 

“Listen, I feel like we need to establish some things. To begin with, I am not your enemy, despite kidnapping you. I’m simply doing what I was hired to do. Please-” He held up a hand as Yuri opened his mouth in protest. “-Let me finish. With this in mind, I can’t let you go. However, I do want this to be as pleasant as possible for you. I will frequently be out running errands. During this time, you’re free to roam the apartment, at least. However, the phone line will be down. I also wouldn’t recommend trying to escape through the window; it’s a long way down and those bars are sturdy, anyways.” He paused. “So? Is that reasonable enough?”

 

Yuri’s mouth snapped shut. “Considering that it’s still kidnapping…”

 

Otabek spread his hands. “At least give me the benefit of the doubt.”

 

He was fucked if he did, and fucked if he didn’t. There was nothing for him to lose.

 

“Okay.”

 

—

 

It was two weeks later when the trouble began, and not because of the reasons one would think.

 

Otabek had gone out for yet another errand of his, and Yuri was reading in his room. Out of nowhere, he heard a bang, like something had fallen. Then Otabek walked into the penthouse, but his tread seemed different. It was timed differently, and the steps were heavier. Odd. There was whispering, and Yuri began to worry a bit. Had the kidnapper brought friends over?  
  
Yuri rolled over to face away from the door as it opened. Immediately, Otabek grabbed his shoulder, and Yuri pulled away. But he was insistent, and he pulled Yuri up to sitting position. When the blond saw his supposed kidnapper’s face, he almost screamed before one of the men pulled out a knife and held it to his throat.  
  
“Scream, and we’ll leave a pretty little bird for your family to find.”  
  
Yuri gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the steel blade. He had been very mistaken. Otabek hadn’t returned. These were members of the Brothers’ Gang, distinguishable by the thorn ring tattoos on their biceps. Someone laughed, and his hands were uncomfortably pulled behind his back. A cloth was pulled out of a pocket and dangled in front of Yuri’s face.  
  
“Say night night, Persephone.”

 

Yuri struggled, but he was held tight. Just as the world began to go dark, he heard gunshots and screams coming from the other room. The cloth was jerked away from his face as the person swore. “What the fuck-” The room filled with the sounds of fumbling and guns cocking. Yuri tried to keep his eyes open to see what was going on, but whatever was in the cloth was too strong. It clouded his mind and once again, Yuri was dragged into a dreamless stupor.

—

 

“ _B'lyad,_ ” Yuri groaned softly, keeping his eyes closed. It felt like someone was drilling into his skull, and everything felt blurry. Something in the room smelled terrible, which didn’t help matters. What the fuck had happened to him…?

 

_“Say night night, Persephone.”_

 

Yuri jolted, his eyes flying open. He tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea hit him, and he nearly threw up. A pair of hands gripped his shoulders, and he tensed up for a second. The reasons why he was in the situation hit him in a dizzying rush. Where was he now? What was going on? The room was completely dark, and Yuri could barely see a thing.

 

He began to struggle without thinking, but the hands held firm.

 

“Yura! Yura, it’s me!” The voice was quiet and slightly strained. Through the haze caused by being drugged, Yuri recognised it to be Otabek’s.

 

Slowly, his eyes readjusted. The other man was kneeling in front of the bed that Yuri was still on. Light streamed in from the open bedroom door, silhouetting Otabek. For one bizarre moment, Yuri’s drugged mind thought, _angel_.

 

But, of course, that wasn’t true. He was still a kidnapper, and angels didn’t exist anyways.

 

Yuri looked away. The light was beginning to make his throbbing headache worse. “What…?” He murmured.

 

“Here.” Otabek pressed something into his hand, and it took a while to register that they were small pills. “Painkillers and anti-nausea.” There was a pause. “It’s not poison, Yura. It’s hardly worth going through all the trouble to keep you alive just to slip you cyanide.”

 

Yuri chuckled at that. Over the two weeks, he’d become more comfortable around his kidnapper (albeit maybe not close enough to be considered friends). Otabek had started calling him Yura, which would ordinarily be something that he hated. Oddly enough, he didn’t mind it coming from the other man. Kidnapping jokes had also become an odd norm for them, considering the circumstances.

 

He popped the pills into his mouth, chasing it down with a glass of water Otabek offered him. The other man waited until he’d drank the entire glass and given it back before he started murmuring again.

 

Yuri realised that he was talking quietly as to not make his headache worse. It occurred to him that everything--the quiet talking, the medicine, the lack of light--had been set up as to lessen the effects of being drugged as much as possible. “Somehow they got intel that you were here and decided to try to kidnap you themselves.” He paused.

 

“All dead?” Yuri asked, turning to look at him again and wincing at the light.

 

Otabek gave a hum in affirmation. He dropped his arms and shifted, and in the light Yuri could see that he was moving suspiciously carefully.

 

“You’re hurt.”

 

The other man looked away. “Just a graze. Nothing too bad.”

 

“Let me see.” Yuri shifted closer. The nausea had subsided, thanks to the medicine, but the light still hurts like a bitch.

 

“Yura, it’s fine. I don’t--”

 

His eyes adjusted, despite the irritation it caused, and he finally saw Otabek in colour. What he didn’t expect is to see so much red.

 

“You haven’t patched yourself up yet?!”

 

Otabek looked awkward and oddly vulnerable.

 

“I’ve been busy with disposing of the bodies. Besides, it’s nothing serious. I’ll just deal with--”

 

“Like fuck you will,” Yuri snapped, surprising even himself. “Where’s your first aid kit? I’ll patch you up myself.”

 

Otabek gave him a look, mixed in with something unreadable. “I can bandage myself, you know.”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t trust you to.”

 

The man chuckled at that. It occurred to Yuri that in any normal situation like this, the sound should have filled him with fear or apprehension. “All right. You’ll have to go out into the light to better see, though. Do you think you can?”

 

If he was being honest, he still felt like shit, but Yuri nodded anyways. “I’ll be fine.” The two of them made their way to the living room. The smell of dried blood still permeated the room, and Yuri resisted the urge to gag. Otabek must have cleaned up everything, as everything was neat and orderly. There were still obvious signs that something had happened, of course; there was blood splattered everywhere and the table had obvious bullet holes.

 

“Sit down. I’ll grab the first aid kit,” Otabek told him, holding up his good hand when Yuri opened his mouth to protest. “Despite what you say, Yura, you look half-dead. The drugs they used are stronger than what I use normally, and even a bit’s enough to make you feel like shit for days.”

 

Yuri snorted. “I noticed.” Nevertheless, the other man had a point, so he sat down and watched while Otabek pulled out a first aid kit from one of the kitchen cabinets and sat down himself. The two of them went silent as Yuri rummaged through the kit and started to clean Otabek’s arm.

 

Finally, Yuri spoke up. “Why?”

 

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “Why what?”

 

Yuri made a vague motion with his hand. “Why...everything? Who ordered you to kidnap me and why? Why were those Brothers’ Gang members after me? And, most importantly...who really are you?”

 

Otabek’s laugh was interrupted by a sharp intake of breath as Yuri made contact with a particularly tender part of the wound. “So many questions.”

 

“Better start answering, then.” Yuri paused. “Please. I deserve to know.”

 

There was a moment of silence, then Otabek sighed. “My name really is Otabek, but most people know me as Hades.”

 

Yuri had been bending over Otabek’s arm, but now he jerked upright, staring at the other man. Hades was a name that was only whispered in the darkest circles. Everybody in the more shady businesses knew about the legendary hitman though nobody had ever seen him, much less knew who he was. And the people who did know...they were the ones who ended up dead. The idea that the mythical mercenary was the person in front of him, the person who he’d been living with for two weeks, was mind-boggling.

 

Otabek didn’t look at him. “I was hired by the head of your family, Victor, to keep you safe.”

 

 _That shithead_ , Yuri thought, but kept it to himself. “Why, though?”

 

“With Giuliani cracking down on the city, I can only imagine that he wanted to keep you safe and away from any potential trouble. I’m the best option out there. As for the Brothers’ Gang...I’m not sure how they found us or why they were looking for us, but it can’t be anything good.”

 

Yuri dropped his gaze back down to Otabek’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

 

“I was under orders to not tell you. I think Victor wanted to keep you as far away from the trouble as possible, both physically and knowledge-wise.”

 

He frowned. “What kind of fucking logic is that?”

 

Otabek shrugged and hissed as the movement pulled on the bandages Yuri was applying onto his arm.

 

“Careful,” Yuri told him, scowling at the other man. He finished completely bandaging the wound and began putting away the remaining supplies back into the first aid kit. “Thank you for telling me. Do you...do you know when all this blows over?”

 

“With Giuliani? I’m not sure. It could take years.”

 

Yuri felt the dread settle in the pit of his stomach, and he looked away from Otabek completely. “That’s what I thought.”

 

He started when he felt Otabek’s hands cover his, and turned back to see the other man leaning in, an earnest expression on his face. “Yura, if you want, I can go talk to Victor and see if we can find a way to get you in hiding with some of your family members or something. Your grandfather’s your only blood relation, right? I can see what I can do about that.”

 

“I-” His eyes were between black and brown and suddenly Yuri felt like he was drowning in them-- “Would you actually do that?”

 

“Of course. It might take a while, because I feel like the phone is being tapped, but I’ll do it somehow.” And there was something, something in the air, something about to happen--but Otabek coughed and pulled away from Yuri and looked away awkwardly and the moment was lost. “I, um. It might take a while, but I’ll find the best way to sneak you to the headquarters. Right now I’m going to see if I can clean up the blood. Go rest, okay?”

 

Yuri watched Otabek get up and walk towards the door with a weird feeling in his chest. “All right. Do you know when you’ll be back?”

 

“No idea.” Otabek stopped at the door for a second and looked back. “Thank you, by the way.”

 

“If I didn’t do it, who would?”

 

The other man gave a short laugh and walked through the door. Yuri sighed as the door closed and rubbed at his forehead, feeling his headache come back in full blast.

 

There had been something in that moment. Definitely something.

 

Yuri just didn’t know what it was.

 

—

Nikolai readjusted his glass of ice water again, shifting uncomfortably. A month had passed since Yuri’s call, and no new information had surfaced… at least, up until now. His contact had asked to meet him at a restaurant, because the information he had was too important to be transferred over a phone that might be tapped. This just made Nikolai more nervous, so he’d brought along Mila Babicheva for safety, who was now standing behind him. What could possibly be potent enough that such extreme measures had to be taken?

A handsome African-American man slid into the seat opposite the former mafia-boss. “Nicholas,” he said, inclining his head respectfully.

“Thom. What did you want to tell me?”

“Not yet. Let’s order something. Have you tried the crepes here?”

“No, I haven’t. I have no appetite right now.”

Thom shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

As Thom ordered his food, Nikolai began chewing on an ice cube in his cloud of anticipation. The food arrived, and after a few bites, Thom motioned for Nikolai to come closer.

“You’re not going to like this,” he warned.

“I don’t care.”

Thom sighed and rubbed his head. “Well, the top individual contractor, the one I told you about before?”

“… Celestino?”

“No, no, the actual independent contractor. Celestino runs an agency, you know that. I mean the Kazakh, the one that no one knows the real name of?”

“Mm.”

“There’s a chance that he might be the person Yuri mentioned. He’s based in Manhattan, and he’s known for doing anything, as long as the price is right and it doesn’t jar with his personal moral code.”

Nikolai sighed and got up. “Thank you for the information.”

“There’s… one more thing.”

“Hm?”

Thom rubbed his forehead. “Well, his current employer is… a Victor Nikiforov.”

Nikolai’s eyes squinted at Thom. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Thom inspected Nikolai’s face. “Nicholas, I’m sure there… are other Victor Nikiforovs?” He finished weakly.

The other man laughed sardonically. “I’m sure there are. But it’s high time I talked to Yakov’s successor anyways.”

—

This time, Nikolai didn’t have to haggle to get into the headquarters. Georgi was manning the front counter, and he let Nikolai in without argument when he saw the expression on Nikolai’s face.

He barreled down the stark white hallway, only pausing in front of Victor’s office to catch his breath. Then, without warning, he barged into the office. Luckily for the former _pakhan_ , Victor and Yuuri were sitting at Victor’s desk, heads bent in concentration, instead of… taking a break, so to speak.

“Victor Feltsman Nikiforov. What a pleasure to find you actually working for once!” Nikolai boomed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Victor scrambled to stand up. “Wha-”

“Do you remember the young man you’re supposed to be training to be the future _pakhan_ of this gang? He goes by Yuri, and he used to complain about you a lot. Although, I haven’t seen much of him recently.”

“Nikolai, I can expl-”

Nikolai slammed his newsboy cap down on the desk, upsetting some of the papers. His fist followed it, coming down with a terrific bang. “You better explain, Nikiforov. Where the fuck is my grandson? And don’t give me that ‘safety’ bullshit.”

Victor sighed. “I arranged for a private contractor to take him away until this whole mess cleared up. And it _was_ for his safety. That’s not a lie.”

The elderly man straightened up and clapped, his eyes still hardened. “Excellent! It’s about time the truth came out. Now, you’re going to call Yuri and Otabek to a meeting, no buts, and we’re going to talk about where Yuri will be staying.”

Just then, a familiar face appeared at the still open door. Nikolai glanced at the arrival over his shoulder, then turned to clap him on the shoulder.

“Yakov!”

Yakov’s lips curled up in a smile. “Nikolai,” he replied warmly, before peering around his good friend to catch a glimpse of a ruffled Victor and a vaguely alarmed Yuuri. His brow dipped slightly. “What’s all this about?”

Nikolai coughed. “Well, you see, Yuri’s missing. And Victor arranged it. I just want Yuri back.”

Victor seemed like he was about to protest until Yuuri gripped his shoulder. Thank god for husbands.

Yakov rubbed his aching forearm, a memory of an old gunshot. “So, what’s the plan?”

“There is no plan!” Victor sputtered. “I never agreed to anything.”

“Victor,” Yakov said, with a note of faint disapproval.

“Sorry,” the silver-haired man mumbled. “But this is a major risk; not only to Yuri, but to everyone at headquarters too.”

Oddly enough, Yuuri was the one that spoke up next. “Why don’t we ask Yuri?”

Yakov jumped in to cut off any chances of debate. “Good idea. Let’s do that.”

 

Nikolai and Victor both reluctantly agreed, mainly out of respect for Yakov.

 

—

 

Yuri and Otabek were walking on foot to the Solntsevskaya Bratva headquarters. Far too much time had passed since either of them made contact with anyone in the gang.

When the pair walked into the dingy store, a red-haired girl was at the counter, talking on the phone. Every now and then, she grabbed a handful of pomegranate seeds from a bowl sitting next to the phone and popped them into her mouth.

“ _Nyet, nyet,_ Sara. Do you really think that would work? Michele’s so over-protective of you.”

Yuri coughed and the girl looked up.

“Oh, someone’s here. Talk to you later.”

She hung up and turned her attention to Yuri. “Yuri?”

“Hello, Mila. Can we go see Victor?”

“Nice to see you too,” she grumbled. “Just let me tell him first.” Mila fumbled under the counter for something, and then set a different phone on the counter. Instead of entering a number, she picked up the phone and spoke directly. “Boss, Yuri’s here with…”

“Hades,” Otabek said.

Mila smirked. “Hades,” she said into the receiver.

None of them expected to hear rapid-fire Russian cursing in response, and then muffled scolding. A soft, slightly accented voice spoke into the other end.

“Please send them down.”

“Alright.” She set down the receiver to glance at Yuri and Otabek. “Hades and Persephone. A nice pair.”

“Shut up,” Yuri growled.

“I’m just saying! It’s an interesting coincidence.” Mila opened the door to the basement for them. “Good luck.”

 

—

 

Nikolai was pacing around the room anxiously. Yuuri was rubbing Victor’s arm, and Yakov was resting in a chair.

 

When Yuri entered the room, it almost completely devolved into chaos. Almost.

 

Yakov was up in an instant, one hand pointed at Victor and another open towards Nikolai. “Calm down!”

 

Nikolai rubbed his eyes as Victor moved to sit on his desk. Yakov was known for being loud, though he had mellowed a bit after retiring.

 

Otabek awkwardly floated around the door, not sure if he should stay for the shouting match, but Yuri motioned for him to stand next to him.

 

Yuuri smiled. “Yuri. Welcome back.”

 

“Tch. No need for formalities. Let’s talk quickly.”

 

“Alright, Yuri.” Victor cracked a knuckle. “Who do you want to stay with during this cease-fire, of sorts?”

 

Yuri had been 110% prepared to say that he would stay with his grandfather. But in that room, standing next to Otabek, he wasn’t so sure. He eyed the slightly taller man next to him. Otabek was staring straight at the wall, eyes glistening ever so slightly. This was the man who had saved him, who got injured for him. He felt like he was underwater. When he spoke, it was the voice of someone across a canyon.

 

“Well, what are the pros and cons?”

 

Nikolai looked vaguely hurt, and Otabek was still staring at the wall, though his eyes narrowed a bit.

 

Victor clucked his tongue. “Well, Nikolai’s a known member of our gang. He’s been targeted multiple times, and the Brothers’ gang definitely knows his home. It’s going to be a pain to relocate and refurnish, but it’s doable. Hades, on the other hand, is relatively unknown. A dark horse to the game, if you will.”

 

“Ah, Victor? What about that attack?” Yuuri asked.

 

“Attack?”

 

“The Brothers’ Gang attacked us at home- sorry, Hades’s house. He took them out, but now they know where he lives,” Yuri explained.

 

Victor rubbed his chin. “One man took out how many of the Brothers’ people?”

 

“Ten.”

 

The silver-haired man beamed at Otabek. “I knew you were a good choice.”

 

Otabek bowed his head. “Thanks.”

 

Yuuri considered Yuri. “Well, it is your choice. The Brothers’ Gang will definitely think again before attacking you at Hades’s house, but don’t think they won’t try.”

 

Yuri glanced at his grandfather, who was silently standing with his shoulder hunched over. Then he looked at Otabek, who was contemplating Yuri in the corner of his eyes. The gesture made something in Yuri warm up, and he made his decision.

 

“Can I stay with Hades?”

 

Nikolai’s entire being seemed to sag, but he made an attempt to smile. “Of course, Yuri. I only want what you want.”

Victor clapped. “It’s settled! Yuri will stay with Hades for now. Feel free to visit or call Nikolai, Yuri. You know how family gets.”

Yuri nodded, and with a surge of confidence, reached out slightly with his hand. Otabek’s fingers made contact with his, and he knew he’d made the right choice.

Nikolai and Mila saw them off. Yuri was about to leave without looking back when he saw the look on his grandfather’s face. Otabek nudged him.

“Do what you need to.”

Yuri ran back to Nikolai and wrapped his arms around the older man, burying his face in Nikolai’s chest to breath the fragrances of pirozhki and smoke, mixed with eucalyptus and mint. He pulled away to look at the man that had raised him since his parents died.

“What’s that weird smell?”

Nikolai looked sheepish. “Something called Tiger Balm from Asia. Yuuri gave it to me. It’s for muscle pains.”

Yuri laughed. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

With that, Yuri left, as Nikolai muttered “They grow up so quickly.”

Walking back in the moist air, Yuri’s hands felt fidgety. They snapped, and moved between his pockets to his side.

Otabek noticed, and gently took one of Yuri’s into his own. Amber met forest green for three seconds. Yuri smiled, a real, genuine smile born of happiness. Otabek returned it with a tiny upturned lip of his own, and they both broke out laughing. For the first time, Yuri felt the satisfaction of making a good choice. He looked forward to many more of those, but for now he would just take on the world. One day at a time.


End file.
